


a hundred jewels between teeth

by GreyishBlue



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adventurers, Alternate Universe - Magic, D&D Classes, Drinking & Talking, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Magic Bathtub, Magic-Users, Non-Graphic Violence, Wyvern!, dungeon delving, now with an art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 00:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21436858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyishBlue/pseuds/GreyishBlue
Summary: James approaches the Shield and Hammer Inn with dusk nipping at his heels. His heavy leather boots kick up dust that clings to his fluttering half cape as he trudges tiredly toward the cozy looking building. Flickering light filters through the smudged glass windows, warm and inviting against the chill of the outside air.Story Complete!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 56
Kudos: 107
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo





	1. couldn't keep me from it

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Winterhawk Bingo Square: Magic AU
> 
> title from Lorde, she's awesome.  
Now with an Art! by me and NotTheBlue

James approaches the Shield and Hammer Inn with dusk nipping at his heels. His heavy leather boots kick up dust that clings to his fluttering half cape as he trudges tiredly toward the cozy looking building. Flickering light filters through the smudged glass windows, warm and inviting against the chill of the outside air. He’d much rather spend the night out under the stars, but winter is making itself known, seeping past his leather armor. Also, most of his camping gear is currently in the ichor lined stomach of a gelatinous cube that he had stumbled into while dragging himself out of the latest dungeon. So he steels himself and pushes open the heavy oaken door of the Inn.

The usual scene for these kinds of places greets him. A bedraggled mish-mash of adventurers occupy the bar, tables, and a few spots around the roaring fireplace. Most look tired and world weary, though a few of the younger ones still seem to be holding onto some bright-eyed enthusiasm. Everything looks to be made of reinforced wood, with patch jobs done in dark metals scattered around. The bartop has a collection of scars from the weaponry that folks have set upon it, and deep carved runes glitter softly along its edges. The thriftiness and care put into it settles James some, he can always appreciate an owner that cares for their establishment.

He makes his way through the room, glad for the steady murmur of the small crowd, something familiar and soothing about the back and forth of dungeon delving stories. There’s a free stool near the back wall of the inn, James claims it for himself and settles his elbows into the bartop to wait for the attention of the red-headed serving lass. She catches his eye quickly, takes his order, and serves him all with a nearly grim efficiency. She doesn’t even seem affected by the most charming smile he can muster, so he leaves her a hefty tip in the hopes of never getting on her bad side. 

Partway through sipping at his frothy ale and tearing into the not quite identifiable but probably not goblin steak, he hears a scuffle starting up near the fireplace. About 80% of his instincts say to ignore it and leave well enough alone, but somehow the rest of him wins out and he looks over. There’s a man, taller than most with a messy shock of blonde hair just peeking out of his cloak hood, and he’s standing protectively over… something? James leans back on the stool to try to get a better look, but whatever it is is shifting and obscured by shadow in an unnatural way. There are four adventurers gathered in a semi-circle around the cloaked man, short swords and daggers drawn, and the tension between them all promises violence. 

He knows there’s no reason to get involved, definitely has no plans to. He stands and moves closer anyway. The blonde man’s eyes flicker quickly over to him, the sky blues there cold and weary as he evaluates whether James is another threat to his precarious position. James lets the cape loose from his shoulders, so the gleaming runed metal encasing his left arm is visible, and he waves cheerily at the rogue. The shock of the distraction loosens the shadow spell roiling at his feet, and James finally gets a decent view of what the rogue is protecting.

Curled up between the Rogue’s soft looking leather boots is a small golden wyvern. It appears hurt, with one wing held at an angle that looks unnatural, and some kind of burn marring one of its eyes. Its head is swiveling in fear between the men trying to approach, unable to keep more than one in it’s emerald gaze at a time, little puffs of smoke barely winding up across its nose as it pants.

Understanding dawns on James, and with it a wave of anger that sends spark lights trailing down his arm. He clenches that fist, feels the light pool into his palm and curl around his fingers, then grins over at the blonde that’s been stealing glances at him. His voice gives away some of the power singing through him,“Hey, four on one isn’t really playing fair, is it?” 

Two of them are dumb enough to turn toward him, so James grabs the closer one with a fistful of his Mage robes, and throws him efficiently over his own shoulder. The dull thunk of the man’s body hitting hardwood floor is followed by the deep groan of someone that isn’t going to stand up for a few minutes at least. There’s a snarl coming from the Ranger looking woman, followed quickly by her dagger. James raises his left arm to block it, delights in the blinding spark when the dagger blade shatters. The woman stands there shocked for a moment, hilt loosely held in her fingers. Then the situation seems to catch up to her and she looks frantically around for the rest of her team, only to find that they’re all in various states of distress on the ground. She lets the mangled weapon drop and raises her hands in surrender, backs away quickly when James gives her a nod. 

James is pleased to see the Rouge was able to take care of himself, and that both the men on the floor are still alive, just unconscious. He takes the time to shake off the lingering whirls of light that cling to his arm before he approaches the other man carefully, “Are you both alright?”

The Rogue looks like he’s still ready to bolt, shifting his weight between his feet while he looks carefully at James, eyes slipping to his edges like he’s reading an aura. Whatever he finds there lets the tension drop from his shoulders, and he gives his head a little shake to drop the cloak hood. He has a strong jaw dusted with golden stubble, a nose that’s seen the wrong end of a fist more than once, and a collection of freckles and scars that James could spend days mapping. A tenuous smile crosses the Rogue’s thin lips and he finally answers, “Yes. Thank you. You really didn’t have to do...” he waves a hand to encompass the passed out adventurers on the ground, “this.”

James laughs, a deep rich sound that whispers with the last of the light he’d called into his arm, “I mean, I kind of had to. I’m James, a Paladin.” He offers his hand, the not-god-powered one, and is pleased when the Rogue takes it easily. 

“Clinton, Rogue, though I’m guessing you know that already, considering.” He tilts his head with a grin as the little tendrils of his shadow spell continue wrapping their way around his body under the cloak. The wyvern, clearly pleased with the lessened audience, digs little claws into Clinton’s knee and slowly climbs, gold scales shimmering through the shadows as it travels carefully up to perch on his shoulder. Once its tail is wrapped securely around Clinton’s neck, it focuses the one glimmering eye it has left on James and chirps.

“You’re welcome, small one.” James gives the wyvern his best smile, the one that hadn’t worked at all on the bartender. It definitely appears to work on the wyvern and the man it has perched upon. The little golden beast taps its snout against the side of Clinton’s head, then wraps further around him and goes to sleep without a care in the world. Clinton, however, blushes from his freckle covered nose down past the collar of his shirt. 

The Rogue glares down at the creature like its betrayed him by leaving him to deal with the rest of this by himself, then he sighs and runs his fingers gently across the ridge of it’s back, fond. When he’s unable to will the blush from his cheeks, he straightens up and faces the smiling Paladin. “Could I buy you an ale, in thanks for the assist?”

“No.” James replies, and when he sees the falling of Clinton’s face, he quickly adds, “Not in thanks, but perhaps in friendship?”

The sigh of relief Clinton makes is audible, and James chuckles a little at how unguarded the Rouge is with his reactions. It’s rare, in this day and age to find someone that’s open to others, much less someone that seems to care about things other than themselves and the next pile of loot in the next dungeon. If the man’s bravery against overwhelming odds hadn’t attracted James, certainly the soft way he glances at the hurt creature wrapped around him would have.

James picks up his cape from the ground as he leads them back to the bar, fastens it back in place so it’s draped over his left side. There’s a few curious glances their way, but thankfully most of the people here subscribe to the general rule of leaving each other the hell alone, it keeps the peace in the spaces catering to adventurers. No one has touched his seat since he’d gotten up, so he sits back down and gestures to his right, where Clinton slinks onto his own barstool.


	2. we've got a lot to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first drink passes by quickly as the two men participate in the oldest of adventurer traditions. They trade tales of daring feats, fair maidens and lordlings rescued from untoward forces, the occasional intriguing treasures that await at the ends of some dungeons. Before Clinton sets down his empty tumbler, James is gesturing to the bartender for more, eager to continue their conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Winterhawk Bingo Square: In Vino Veritas

The first drink passes by quickly as the two men participate in the oldest of adventurer traditions. They trade tales of daring feats, fair maidens and lordlings rescued from untoward forces, the occasional intriguing treasures that await at the ends of some dungeons. Before Clinton sets down his empty tumbler, James is gesturing to the bartender for more, eager to continue their conversation. Clinton accepts the new drink with good grace and a pink flush across his cheeks.

It goes that way, one or the other setting little silver coins on the bar for more rounds as they talk. James shares the tale of his reluctant introduction to becoming a Paladin, starting with a Hydra he fought deep in a swampland. His narrative winds through the defeat of the beast, the damage it’s poisoned fangs wrought on James’s arm, and the Cleric that found him half dead with it afterward. Intricate spellwork has its costs, and James had agreed to follow in the service of the Cleric’s deity for the favor of life. While the arm couldn’t be saved as it was, magic had come a long way, and a replacement had been spellbound to him. Through the entire telling, Clinton listened, enraptured. Not only by the way James spoke, confident and sure, but increasingly by the shape of his lips as they formed the words. The ales are followed by a honey mead the bartender recommends to them with a wry grin, and James is almost sure he catches her winking at the Rogue.

Clinton’s face keeps the pretty flush across his nose and cheeks as he delves into his own story, hands flying in intricate gestures when he sets the scenes. Particularly sharp movements get little huffs of annoyance from the dragon that’s settled securely across his shoulders, its snout tucked under a fold of cloak. He doesn’t divulge much detail about his upbringing, just a vague outline of a young boy falling in with the wrong crowd. He grins and shows off with little tendrils of darkness dripping from his fingertips when he describes his training to become a Rogue. But he sobers when he hints that his found family had hoped to use those same skills in ways he couldn’t agree with. The brisk unpleasant parts of the story get quickly washed down with more mead, until he meanders back to how he found the dozing wyvern.

Upon learning that Clinton intends to keep the injured creature with him for the foreseeable future, and that he’s going to name it Lucky, of all things, James can’t help but fall into peals of laughter. Heedless of the eyes that might be on them, he slings an arm around the blonde’s shoulders. He’s careful to avoid his golden passenger, uses the sturdiness of Clinton’s shoulders to hold himself up as the laughter rolls over him in waves. Clinton accepts the closeness easily, like he couldn’t care that there’s a mystic artifact with god driven power attached to the man encaging him with his bulk.

There’s an ease to being near Clinton that James has only rarely in his life felt. The ale and mead sings in his veins, encourages him to be more open and daring. He lets his arm drift downward to settle in the small of Clinton’s back, watches him carefully for any sign that he might be unwelcome. There’s a little shudder that travels through the Rogue, subtle but telling. Mixed with the way he’s blushing and smiling, it’s easy enough to see Clinton is in favor of James’s wandering hand.

By the time the main room has mostly emptied out, the two men are trading touches with the familiarity of close friends. There’s a not-so-subtle cough from the bartender as she collects their silver and slides a small bronze key across the bar to Clinton. He almost fumbles it as he shoves it into one of the myriad of pockets sewn into his cloak. He turns back to James to find the Paladin’s face full of mirth and maybe a few questions. There’s a lull in their conversation as they both consider their options, the weight of a room key leaving all sorts of prospects open to them.

Before James can figure out how exactly he can invite someone up to their own room, Clinton speaks, voice deep against the curve of James’s ear, “Come upstairs with me, Paladin?”

“Gods, yes.” James answers quickly, a little shocked and breathless at having his class said in quite that tone.

Clinton’s eyes are sparkling bright with excitement and ale when he stands and grabs at James’s arm, uncaring that it’s the metal one he winds his fingers around. “Hopefully your God won’t have anything to say about what we get up to, hm?”

The sounds of James’s laughter follow them as they support one another up the staircase and toward Clinton’s room.  
  



	3. and only eachother to say it to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The room is small, and a little bit crowded by the furnishings, but welcoming nonetheless. Against one wall, there’s a mattress on a solid wooden frame, with a small stool nearby holding a lamp. It casts a purple-tinged glow across the space, the light swirling around in a simple but competent example of spellwork. The only thing James didn’t really expect is the overly large claw-foot tub against the opposite wall. The bronze of it gleams in the light, offering warmth and comfort, and James wonders if it might be large enough for both of them for just a fleeting momen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Winterhawk Bingo Square: Tub Sharing

The room is small, and a little bit crowded by the furnishings, but welcoming nonetheless. Against one wall, there’s a mattress on a solid wooden frame, with a small stool nearby holding a lamp. It casts a purple-tinged glow across the space, the light swirling around in a simple but competent example of spellwork. The only thing James didn’t really expect is the overly large claw-foot tub against the opposite wall. The bronze of it gleams in the light, offering warmth and comfort, and James wonders if it might be large enough for both of them for just a fleeting moment.

Clinton unwraps himself from his cloak, sets it down in a bundle near the foot of the bed and carefully settles the little wyvern on top of it, ignoring the slightly displeased huff of smoke from the golden creature at being displaced. He has a moment of awkward shyness when he sees the way James’s eyes travel across his body hungrily, but he tamps it down and starts the long intricate process of removing his collection of knives and daggers. 

James watches as Clinton’s fingers deftly spin and flip an unrealistic amount of small bladed weapons from his leathers, realizes that the Rogue’s competent hands could be put to many other uses, and nearly chokes himself with his own cape at the thought. Clinton looks up at the little strangled noise that escapes James, and their ice and sky blue eyes meet. James can’t help himself, he crosses the room and reaches out for Clinton, pulls him in close until their chests are pressed together. There’s red sparks dripping from his metal fingertips as he caresses Clinton’s jaw, and the other man shudders at the feeling of the magic trailing across his skin.

When they finally lean in and press their lips together, trails of smoke and sparks of light mingle between their bodies, magic gleefully escaping from men who have let their guards down entirely. The kisses turn from soft and exploratory to deep and needy quickly. James swallows down the sounds of Clinton’s gasps and whimpers when he licks into the blonde’s mouth, bites at his lips and tongue greedily for more. James’s hands quickly and deftly work to loosen the buckles of Clinton’s leathers, stripping the Rogue down efficiently between kisses. 

He slides a hand down past Clinton’s lower back to squeeze the firm flesh there and makes a pleased sound when he finds the Rogue isn’t wearing anything underneath his pants. Clinton laughs softly, presses a kiss to James’s jaw, and pulls back a bit to say, “Do you think your God would mind us finding out if two can fit in that tub, Paladin?” Before James can answer, the blonde is letting his top fall from his shoulders and walking over to the bath. The long line of his body when he bends to start the water flowing gives James whole new categories of sin to consider. 

James has to take a few minutes to divest himself of his armor, and he enjoys watching Clinton meanwhile. The Rogue slowly shimmies out of his boots and pants, sits on the edge of the tub with his legs spread to let James see the entirety of him. The steam of the filling bath curls up around him as he trails his hands across his chest, wandering his fingers lower until he’s brushing his knuckles across the head of his cock. James nearly rips the laces from his pants at the sight, manages to get everything off in one piece, and stalks toward Clinton. His intent is clear, eyes wide and dark, his arm swirling in patterns of green and gold light. 

Clinton’s skin is flushed with the heat of James’s gaze, and he slowly strokes himself just to watch those ice blue eyes follow his hand. Then James is stepping in between his spread knees, leaning down to claim his mouth again. Clinton groans into the kiss and reaches his free hand up to James’s hair, unties the thin leather strap there so he can watch the cascade of auburn hair as it falls across the Paladin’s shoulders. When James’s silver fingers join his own on his shaft, Clinton’s hips jerk upward and he nearly falls backward into the tub. James manages to catch him, just barely, and grins, “Better get in before the fates take the choice from you, my pretty Rogue.”

Clinton almost loses coordination again at the possessive edge to James’s words, and his heart skips for a moment at being called pretty. He manages to lower himself into the blessedly hot water without any further incident, and is glad for the steam to excuse his unstoppable blushing. The tub is large enough that he can almost stretch out fully, knees just the barest bit bent up once his toes hit the edge. James joins him, straddles Clinton’s hips so he can lean forward to kiss him again, like the moments they spent with their lips apart were already too long. 

James reaches down between them and wraps his fingers carefully around both of their shafts, slides his hand oh so slowly up with a little squeeze. The water shimmers around them, light and shadow reflecting through it as James strokes them both. Clinton is gasping and writhing underneath him, responsive like he’s rarely touched, or like James is something special he can barely handle. His hands roam across James’s chest, greedy for contact, nails scraping gently across his nipples and down his sides. Sound that tries to escape Clinton’s throat is muffled against James’s lips, every one encouraging James to stroke faster, hips twitching forward of their own volition into the tight circle of his hand. 

James feels balanced on a dagger’s edge, every movement from the man below him tipping him closer to the breaking point. Clinton’s wandering hands reach down to cup James’s ass, squeezing firmly and pushing his hips forward, and that’s enough. James gasps Clinton’s name out softly against his lips, then he’s coming, stripes of white hitting the Rogue’s chest and the water both. The sight and slickness of it sends Clinton over the edge with him, a babble of curse words mixed with James’s name flow from his lips as his hips twitch through the waves of pleasure. 

James slumps against him then, mouth pressing kisses and soft bites into Clinton’s neck and shoulders. He expects a sticky mess between them, glances down to find the bathwater clear and still steaming hot. Clinton catches his puzzled frown and presses a kiss to his sweat-slick temple before making a little questioning noise. 

“Is.. is this tub enchanted to be self-cleaning?” James asks, words a little muffled by how he’s saying them mostly into Clinton’s shoulder. The way Clinton’s body rumbles with laughter is oddly soothing, so James just presses himself closer and enjoys the way the other man’s hands wrap protectively around his back. 

“I think so? Natalia, the bartender, just said this was the best room to clean up in, so I took it.” He shrugs and idly rubs his hands slowly along James’s back, fingertips tracing scars gently as James stretches out to settle more comfortably against the taller man. Clinton doesn’t hesitate to caress James’s left shoulder, or his arm, and it lights up something in James’s chest that for once isn’t his magic slipping from his control. 

James lays there against Clinton’s chest, feeling safe and comfortable in a way he hasn’t since he’d started delving into dungeons. It doesn’t take much time before he’s dozing off, warmth and the release they’d achieved together conspiring to lure him to sleep. Before he can manage it entirely, Clinton is nudging him awake and helping them both get out of the tub. Clinton begins searching around for a towel, but James just chuckles and wraps himself in power for a moment, the bright flash of light leaving him mostly dry and grinning up at Clinton.

“Oh! That’s fantastic, can you do me?” Clinton looks as excited as any child on their first Yuletide, rather than the seasoned adventurer he is. 

“Didn’t I just?” James’s snarky reply is followed almost immediately by him wrapping his arms around Clinton’s waist. Clinton gasps at the feeling of James’s magic running across all of his skin at once, for a bright electric moment.

“Are you supposed to use God powers for this?” The teasing edge in Clinton’s voice is apparent, and James smiles at him fondly before leading him over to the bed. It’s definitely not as large as the tub, James figures two men of their size would have to wrap themselves together to comfortably fit. He doesn’t mind at all. 

“That’s the great thing about being a Paladin. I just have to work toward goodness. The interpretation of it is mostly up to me, within reason.” He lays down on the bed, back pressed against the wall, and opens his arms up to Clinton invitingly. The Rogue doesn’t hesitate to join him, scatters little soft kisses across James’s nose and cheeks just to watch the Paladin blush and laugh again. 

“So you’re saying I’m good, huh?” Clinton’s voice only just betrays the importance of the question with a little shake, but James doesn’t comment on that. Instead he tightens his arms across the blonde’s muscular shoulders reassuringly.

“Of course you are. Wouldn’t have been able to help you in that fight otherwise.” There’s a little squeak that leaves Clinton at James’s reply, and James finds himself more deeply fond for it.

“Oh!” Clinton breathes, “I. Thank you, again.”

James kisses the thanks from Clinton’s mouth as he gets the courage up to say, “No thanks needed, my pretty Rogue. Only perhaps… do you think we might spend another night like this, some time?”

“Yes!” Clinton’s answer is immediate and enthusiastic, followed by him becoming much more cuddly, little pink-tinged smoke tendrils slipping from his skin, uncontainable joy that trails down to pool on the bed below them. 

After that, they trade lazy kisses between them until sleep claims them both. There’ll be more dungeons, more adventures in both of their futures, and maybe now they’ll do them together.


End file.
